They Come at Night
by Cerulean Pen
Summary: The effects of a traumatizing incident are not always abrupt: sometimes, the damage will simmer under the surface and you'll never know when the pot will boil…/The aftermath of Jurassic Park for Alexis Camilla Murphy.


They Come at Night

Summary: The effects of a traumatizing incident are not always abrupt: sometimes, the damage will simmer under the surface and you'll never when the pot will boil…/The aftermath of Jurassic Park for Alexis Camilla Murphy.

English Family/Hurt/Comfort Rated: T Chapters:1 Words:

**a/n: **I've been doing some work with Jurassic Park and I had the notion to write an abandoned one-shot for Lex. Found it saved in my computer and resuscitated it. Hope everybody enjoys this and please offer your two cents when your little scroll bar reaches the bottom of the screen.

Glass shatters beneath her and, at one instance, the entire house tremors, but she is blissfully deafened by her headphones.

Ever since she acquired the ear buds, they had been used incessantly, until the cord was thinner than gossamer and the sound faltered every few seconds. Still, they had yet to fail her. The twelve-year-old girl's slender fingers flew across the keyboard while an acoustic ballad like burnt sugar fills the spaces in between. She is free from it all here, with an imaginary world reflecting in her cornflower eyes. It is beautiful.

Alexis Murphy surveyed the letter she had just dedicated an entire hour to composing. Three and a half beautiful pages of passion and rage and depression. With a faint grin, she clicked the exit button in the corner. **Do you wish to save your work on Untitled Document? **Lex clicked the "no" button and watched the computer delete her work. That was the spectacular thing about computers. If you wanted to excise something from your life, it was the simplest pressure on a mouse.

There's a shriek that rattles her very bones. It shakes the keys on her board, tips her picture frame over, momentarily blinds her. Lex clamps a hand over her eyes, waiting for another outburst, but eerie silence falls over the house like a magical spell. She turns the volume up and opens another document to pour out another fragment of soul.

The nightmare from yesterday takes form in a block of white. She can sense the rancid breath on her neck, the bellows of the monster, the metal vent falling away beneath her. Sometimes, Lex is so familiar with the day that she can scarcely distinguish reality from the past. She'll tiptoe past the woods, she'll listen for animal roars, she'll search the horizon for Alan Grant. But nothing is hurting yet. The memory is an ice cube against her, slowly numbering her body until her thoughts negate into oblivion.

Something slams against her door with enough force to snap it from its hinges and the earthquakes crumble her walls, her sanctuary. Lex tears the headphones out of her ears, panting heavily. There is something sickeningly recognizable about this moment.

Seven fingers hook themselves beneath her door, scratching and pleading and slipping. Lex knows whom they belong to. She knows what is going on outside. She knows why it's happening.

Lex sits back down, plugs herself in, and begins to type.

:::::

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day breakfast is a half hour of hell concocted from the devilish minds of Mother and Father. By the time Lex stumbles downstairs, fatigue is a double-edged sword in her brain and she can feel the black circles beneath her eyes throbbing. Lillian Murphy is playing the Mommy, complete with lunchboxes and blizzard pancakes. Adam Murphy is hiding behind his newspaper, the only evidence of his existence a plume of smoke.

Lex cannot look Tim in the eyes. She'll see the bruise on his forehead.

The word "divorce" did not seem to go through their thick heads. Proceeding the Jurassic Park incident, Lillian and Adam insisted they expunge their claim for divorce in order to "reestablish a household" and "tie up loose family bonds". The only results were constant disputes and the violence…it was an eternal shackle on joy.

Lex slices the strawberry off the top pancake (she's allergic), watching the syrup cascade down the fluffy sides. She finds it incredibly funny that Lillian believes she can heal the fact she laid a hand on her own child with pancakes. The giggle she's suppressing cracks her ribcage. She's going to shatter at the breakfast table.

"How did you sleep, honey?" Mother Lillian inquires, even though the exhaustion radiates from Lex like light radiates from the Vegas skyline.

"Fine," Lex answers, because it's in the rulebook that she has to reach for every few seconds, even though she has the pages memorized. Fine. Yes. No. All right. Sure. Okay. I did not hear you knock my little brother unconscious. Everything is fine at home. I love you.

The yellow beacon of death wheezes down the road and beckons for the innocent children. Lex shoves another mouthful of pastry between her lips, meeting the status quo for normality, just enough, just enough. She stands too fast, seizing her backpack and hastily tugging a pair of canvas shoes on her feet. "Well, that's the middle school bus, I'll see you guys later, love you." The words come from the record inside of her, forever spinning.

Mom Lillian puts on her cheerful face and waves; Adam turns the page, practicing his invisibility. They are part of the scenery. Lex steps towards the kitchen door, feeling his eyes boring holes in the back of her skull. _Take me with you, _the sad eyes plead, _save me from this and never bring me back. _She employs "the white noise": a counseling technique where she drags a curtain over her mind and sets off a monotonous tone that barricades all emotion.

It works. Today, she doesn't even turn her head.

:::::

School is prison and prison is torture and torture is school. They are nothing but bodies floating through the halls, occasionally tied to desks, teacher pouring knowledge into their heads. They are robots programmed to giggle, whisper, snap, touch, slap, shut, open, breathe, blink, eat, laugh, groan, cry. They are seventh grade students.

Lex has realized almost a year ago that she is not a robot. Sometimes she has to pinch her wrist to ensure she is clothed in flesh instead of steel. So many things have forced her eyes open and shoved the real world down her throat. She doesn't hate knowing all of it, but bearing the burden of wisdom can place quite the strain on her back.

The teacher turns on a video in biology, and what-do-you-know, it's about dinosaurs. Her head snaps up with enough force to sever her neck in two. The projector ignites, the darkness falls over her, bringing with it the memory, the horror, the fear. A Tyrannosaurs Rex trudges across screen, unleashing a roar that causes the class to dissolve into giggles and shrieks. Ha, ha, ha, it's all so funny, because it's not **real.**

Lex finds herself standing instead of sitting, breaking the shackle around her ankle and starting to float to the ceiling. Her head is full of broken glass; her eyes are melting candles. Another second and she'll fissure apart. Her left temple is throbbing in sync with her heartbeat, which is at a level making her susceptible to a stroke at the slightest jolt.

"Miss Murphy, please take a-"

She sees the ghosts and screams.

:::::

_My name is Alexis Camilla Murphy and I am not crazy. My name is Alexis Camilla Murphy and I am not crazy. My name is Alexis Camilla Murphy and I am so crazy._

:::::

The only benefit of a mental breakdown in class is a guaranteed seat in front of the television at one-thirty. Adored in her softest pajamas, hot chocolate nestled between her knees, the house empties so she can tune to Channel Seven. A familiar visage greets her, give or take a few wrinkles and with a scar on his upper brow. He smiles, like he can see her, before addressing the auditorium of restless graduate students.

Lex takes a sip of cocoa, letting the warmth envelop her body. A spark of happiness incites in her chest, which scares her for a moment. It is a rarity to experience an emotion other than fear/rage/nothingness. She hesitates, glancing around the living room to confirm her isolation. With a grin, Lex abandons her drink to settle on her knees inches away from the screen, tracing his face with her fingertip.

"I know you think about it," she whispers to the face and for that precious moment, they are in a tree together, murmuring half-asleep wishes to the fog. "I miss you, Alan."

:::::

The days begin to boil into a blunt needle that threads Lex through minutes, hour, days, with no stop. It is almost peaceful. It makes her feel normal, like she's another robot going through the motions. There are no more signs of psychological deterioration, although her classmates do not allow the episode to slide by without a few snickers.

"I know," Lex laughs with the utmost insincerity. "Pretty dumb to be afraid of dinosaurs, huh?"

_Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, when you enter hell on Earth and escape alive, I'll be waiting to make a joke about it with you. _

There is somebody. When Lex isn't looking, she'll switch off her systems and fly away from the group to perch next to her. Her name is Caitlin. It is an Irish name. Two little-known facts. How smart she is. Lex doesn't mind Caitlin much, but the white noise is often utilized whenever she's around. Her silence is definitely compensated for by Caitlin's incessant jabbering.

At lunch on Tuesday, when Lex is gazing at the note from her mother in order to see who will crack first, Caitlin lands. There is something odd about her speech pattern: her voice starts to falter and the decibels slowly recede from the hundreds. Finally, there is nothing but the sound of Lex's eyelashes touching her cheek when she blinks.

"My parents are getting a divorce."

Lex isn't quite sure whose mouth the statement escaped from. Judging by the misery that is Caitlin's expression though, she has a decent guess. "Oh. Wow. That's…terrible." She stares into the heart of the apple and wonders if it's poisoned and if she'll die when she takes a bite. "I wish mine were divorced."

For a rare moment, Caitlin keeps her mouth shut. Then, their brains are turned off when a teacher strolls by and they are robots again.

:::::

Lex is having a staring contest with the computer screen; she is winning. She can count on one hand the hours of sleep she has gotten this week. Every gear in her skull is rusted, the inner mechanisms in desperate need of fuel so they can power her through the next day. The headphones are in the wastebasket, unlikely to be replaced until Christmas. Their arguments grow claws and latch onto her brain.

"…always a damn financial issue with you, always…"

"…put that cigarette out before you set the house on fire…"

"…we can't afford to send our own daughter to therapy…"

"…is it our fault they got stuck in that situation, no…"

The white noise isn't working anymore. _Shut up, shut up, just shut up, _reverberates against the caverns of her mind, spiking tears in her eyes. Lex swipes them away, clutching her corn silk bangs in her fists as they come in pieces. There is so much fury inside of her, baking her heart into a shriveled stone; there is so much depression inside of her, drowning her lungs in sorrow; there is so much fear inside of her, sewing her ribcage shut.

_CRACK!_

The sound strongly resembles hand against bone, flesh against flesh. She doesn't know who is injured now, but she knows she. Can't. Stand. It. Any. Fucking. Longer. Lex clambers to her feet, knocking her desk chair over in the process. Her arms and legs are much faster than she can control, bringing her numb body down the stairs, down the hall, down the rabbit hole.

She drinks in the scene as the ice cube begins to melt. The little threads of emotions are starting to manifest, growing on her eyes and cheeks and fingers. They are all placed in perfect position, like a Broadway play for demons.

Adam Murphy stands over his only son with one burly hand wrapped around Lillian Murphy's throat, the other grasping a picture frame. There are glass fragments on the carpet. There is blood on the carpet. There are shattered promises on the carpet.

"What is it now, Lex? Ready to tell us your riveting stories? Or maybe lose your mind so we can pay another thousand dollars so some goddamn therapist can tell us you're insane. You are just like your mother. Weak. Defenseless. Stupid. I hate-" Adam Murphy is interrupted by the connection of his daughter's fist with his jawbone.

Nothing has ever felt this good. Not flying home on the helicopter. Not watching Alan Grant on television. Not letting Caitlin ramble on like everything is ordinary. No. Nothing has never felt as spectacular as Lex punching her father in the jaw.

"Weak and defenseless. Right." The sarcasm drips off her words and onto her bare feet as she uses her father's temporary paralysis to her advantage. Lex gathers Tim in her arms, more or less dragging him, right out of the house, into the frigid night air. The rapid change in temperature reminds her of how warm her cheeks are, how close her engine is to erupting.

They navigate the bushes to reach the backyard, going beyond the rusted swing set to the lip of the forest. There is a tent back here, the splintered dream of a camping trip. Lex stows them away, zipping up the door and inspecting the nylon enclosure. Small, damp, possibly inhabited by insects. A thousand times better than her house.

Lex lays on her back, closing her eyes as the hurricane inside of her reduces to a light drizzle. Feeling things is too much work. "You never should have gone down there. You know what he would have done. What he did do."

"I know. But they just wouldn't stop. I-I just wanted them to stop." Tim stares at the ceiling, his breaths coming in ragged bursts as the pain in his head doubles, intensifies, slows, hastens. He hates living here, with the words, the wounds, the world against him. He hates scaring Lex.

_You have no idea, you have no idea, you have no idea. _"Yeah, I understand what you were trying to do. It's dangerous going down there though." She fumbles for his hand in the darkness, squeezing it because she knows the ghosts won't come when Tim is here. "Tomorrow morning, we're calling grandpa."

:::::

"Yes, put that over there, and, no, no, wait, that goes in Lex's room. Yes, good, very good. Kids, is that you?"

Leaning heavily on his amber-tipped cane, John Hammond limped down the stairwell, beaming when he perceived his two grandchildren in the doorway. He had not gotten the chance to visit them since the incident, and now, he was temporarily accommodating them while their parents…worked out issues in court.

"Grandpa!" Tim dropped his luggage to sprint up the steps and embrace his grandfather, inhaling the scent of lacquer and spearmint. Lex took the stars one at a time, testing her newfound strength: she could punch a hole in the wood if she wasn't careful. She looped her arms around them, the first glimmer of hope dancing in front of her eyes.

_But, _her mind reminds her, _there is something missing here. You've got to find it._

:::::

Alan Grant lay on a hotel bed in Sweet Valley, California, not paying much attention to whatever program was playing on the television set. He was not adapted to the luxurious amenities hotels provided, and he usually didn't use them to any extent. Besides, his stay was a brief one. Alan had attended a conference on Velociraptors in a nearby building and it had run too long to catch a flight back to Minnesota.

Alan was almost asleep when a knock sounded at the door, rousing him from a light doze. "If it's house-keeping, I don't need any more towels," he called out, sitting up to stretch and adjust the shape of his pillow. Another knock, this one more urgent. "Hang on."

With a sigh, Alan shuffled across the bedroom, unlatching the door handle. He pushed it open-he blinked once-he stared into her cornflower eyes-the static was silent. "Lex?"

"Hi, Doctor Grant," Lex whispered as she coerced herself to not shed a tear. This was the real version, the body, the face, the crinkly eyes she had seen in every silver handle and crystal shard. Without thinking on both of their parts, they were in each other's arms, greeted by fresh memories.

This was not the girl Alan had sat in the tree with. This girl was hardened, but with the ember of terror in her pupils and the loose braid and the tapered finger. He saw Lex in there, locked away without the key. He wanted her back. Lex could feel his muscles tensing beneath her, like he was suppressing something, a feeling stronger than sorrow. She desired for him to stroke her hair at night and tell her special things and introduce her father to the front end of a sledgehammer. They wanted so many things.

But for seven minutes, they just held each other and cried.


End file.
